And We Are Flesh And Blood Disintegrate
by IndigoNightandRayneStorm
Summary: The human hell of one who cannot die. ! Not for the kiddies. Involves lots of graphic torture and gore. Read at your own risk.
1. Suspension

**Title: **And We Are Flesh And Blood Disintegrate

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **The human hell of one who cannot die.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **None so far, slight chance of Warren/Logan in later chapters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun. Don't own the song lyrics either; those belong to The Smashing Pumpkins.

**Spoilers: **Nope

**Warnings: **TORTUREBLOODGORETORTUREYUCKYNESSDARKDARKDARK!

**Author's Note: **If you're looking for a positive boost or a little sugary goodness YOU ARE IN THE WRONG PLACE, you are warned. This story is not for the young or faint of heart. It contains torture and violence of the most detailed and horrific proportions. Inspired by The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning by The Smashing Pumpkins.

**You are warned.**

* * *

Chapter 1: Suspension

Send a heartbeat to

The void that cries through you.

There is a certain gratifying sense of the ethereal to be found in finding oneself suspended feet into the air. A weightless feeling of freedom and elation, invulnerability pervades the senses and lulls one off into a dreamlike vision of divinity. That illusion, however, is shattered when one's means of suspension comes in the form of three unforgiving meat hooks driven mercilessly through folds of your flesh and then stretched until the skin resembles some demented parody of sticky tack fighting desperately to retain its preordained hold on two surfaces that are determined to part each other's company.

That is how he found himself. He had no recollection of how he had gotten there, but there he was. Above was an endless maze of more chains like the ones holding him in their infallible grip, the crackled, hissing with electricity, a stormy darkness housed them, and a dull glowing light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once through their links into sharp relief. Below him the exact same mirror image extended in a bottomless void of darkness and despair.

Three hooks held him, one in the right shoulder near the neck, one in the left side just above the hip, and one in the right thigh, midway between hip and knee. At each point a folded arch of flesh, pulled away from the boy with perfect curvature, formed a loop to provide the hook its latch to hold onto. A sullen, steady stream of blood dripped from the hollow crater left where the fold of skin had once been, falling, falling heedlessly into the depthless vacuum beneath him. He listened to the wet plonking sound as the sanguine waterfall was obstructed by a link in the never ending forest of metal cables, its progress slowed but not halted as it then slid along the smooth surface, leaving it's calling card in a russet stain before sojourning on.

The pressure assailing him from all sides, maximize at the stretched point of impact from each hook, stretching, rending, tearing, not just his flesh, but all of his limbs, tissues, and organs. His lungs especially suffered, besieged by the un-meet-able demands of his struggling body, subsidized by the terribly tight invisible bands of panic that embraced his chest ever harder, they burned and labored uselessly. He felt as though his chest might explode with the pressure, skin, muscle, and ribs expelled outward with the violence of his lungs' relinquishment. And yet still they labored on, fruitless but persistent.

This place was empty, barren but for him, the chains holding him captive, the boundless expanse above and below, and the intermittent crackling electricity that danced along the pathways of the links. It crackled and sizzled, a living entity unto itself, singing as it danced with reckless abandon. And he watched the little sparks with apprehension, dreading the occasions when it chooses to dance his way. Those little sparks of lightning, harmless and almost benignly beauteous from a distance, hit in a whirlwind of fizzy agony, making heart throb in a frenzy, and muscles contract and seize in a surge of raw power, that when gone leaves the body empty and aching, tingling and inflamed in the aftermath of the assault.

The links groaned under his weight, complaining, and their confines restricting even further, stretching, tearing, demanding more than he had to make up for their own inadequacies. He felt certain that the meager strips of flesh would give out at any moment, and sometimes he wished they would, longed for it like an acorn longs to be released from the branches of its parent tree, freed to forge its own way. But then he'd look down into the terrifying blackness beneath him and pray that his partially excoriated hide would hold out just a little longer. He could endure this pain over the horror of the unknown depths yawning beneath him, gapping maw awaiting his eventual surrender to it.

And so he floated in agonized limbo.

~*Evil*livE*~

He wasn't sure anymore how exactly he had landed in his hell. Hell, he wasn't really sure of much of anything anymore. Except pain, that he knew. It seemed that was all that was left in his world now; pain and agony beyond even the worst imaginable nightmares of most. Then he would heal, and it would start all over again.


	2. Fire

**Title: **And We Are Flesh And Blood Disintegrate

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **The human hell of one who cannot die.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **None so far, slight chance of Warren/Logan in later chapters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun. Don't own the song lyrics either; those belong to The Smashing Pumpkins.

**Spoilers: **Nope

**Warnings: **TORTUREBLOODGORETORTUREYUCKYNESSDARKDARKDARK!

**Author's Note: **The sole purpose of this story is to entertain my demented mind in my boredom. Therefore, I have no plan, no decided length or end, the chapters have little to no direct connection with each other, and there's pretty much no plot. This is really just a personal writing exercise for myself that I figured what the hell why not post. Don't get your expectations up too much.

**You are warned.**

* * *

Chapter 2: Fire

_In your darkest hour_

_I hold secrets flame._

There is no worse fate than that of being burned alive, unless it is to be burned alive without even the promise of eventual death and oblivion. A metal grate lay beneath him, he could feel each individual bar pressing into his defenseless back, it was a flimsy, futile protection from the fires that raged below. The metal of the grate had long since turned cherry red, beginning to bend in soundless submission, threatening to dump him directly into the conflagration. The inferno blazed, screaming for his flesh, his blood, his soul. It wanted him, all of him. It was hungry, it was angry, and there was nothing to stop it from taking its desire. He was bound, helpless. A single drop of blood slid between the bars, landing with a sickening sizzle-pop onto one of the live coals, mixing its acrid flavor to the perfume of smoke that choked the sweltering air. Tasting the blood only made the flames hunger for more, and it shot up probing fingers to lick at his exposed back, little more than a lover's caress, tasting, teasing, whispering promises of what was to come. The heat was searing, skin blistered and bubbled; lips cracked and bleed as all moisture was sucked greedily from the air. Flushed cheeks and fever dulled eyes stared upward in desperate horror. Parched screams echoed from torrid throat, but only encouraged the fire.

Tongues licked higher, bars bent but did not break. The fire shrieked its rage at being forced to wait, logs creaking and groaning under the strain of its increased demands. Lick, snip, bite, the devilish blaze ate at him, catching fine hairs and clinging to them, using them as ropes to shimmy up, reaching for his flesh, igniting, clutching, snatching, and refusing to let go. Then, the true burning began. Spites, tiny demons born of hellfire broke free of the flames' pregnant womb to dance wonton across his chest while he could do nothing but watch and wail a useless protest.

The air was now heavy with roasting carnage, as fat bubbled and meat cook. Skin gave way to muscle and tender inner organs, which in turn gave way to scoured bone. He now watched in morbid fascination as rainbows of hell-light flickered dully off of the metal grafted to his own ribs.

He screamed until his throat and tongue were nothing but ash and smoky fumes, and even then the sound continued, ringing silently in his ears, haunting him, the only way within his reach to describe his pain, inadequate though it was.

And the scream echoed, and the fire ate, and eternity stretched on.

~*Evil*livE*~

At first his body had reassembled almost immediately, leaving only his mental scars as proof that anything had happened at all. Those early, pain-free hours, now little more than hazy, half-dreamed memories, he had spent in crazed, desperate escape attempts. As days, weeks, eternities passed and he took longer and longer to heal he'd throw himself screaming against the walls, yelling, threatening, pleading, begging, deranged and mindless in his insanity.

Now though, he had lost all will to fight, lost himself, who he had once been to despair. He now merely dragged himself as far into the cell as his almost non-existent strength allowed and lay there, curled in on himself, relishing in the pitiful relief the respite brought him. Watching in morbid fascination as bones knitted together, muscles reformed, and skin stretched until his body was whole again. It was quiet. It was dark. It was all he had.


End file.
